She didn’t know him from a bar of soap when she wrote that review. And then when they slept together, again, she had no idea she’d been the one to destroy his self-esteem and thereby his career. So how could he blame her for any of that? She was a critic with an opinion. She had every right to say what she wanted about his book. He was the idiot who’d taken it to heart, who’d let those words control him instead of shaking them off.

What if he was being a self-important dick and he and his writing were not one and the same as he’d claimed so self-righteously?

In all honesty, he wanted to ask her out on a date. A real one. He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter if she didn’t like his writing, because he liked her.

But then he remembered several things at once.

Number one, she still wasn’t sure if she even wanted a relationship.

Number two, everything between them had been based on lies . . . or half-truths at least.

Number three, his life was currently in tatters, so he was hardly a catch.

He turned onto the Pacific Highway and was relieved to see less traffic than usual. His mum was right about leaving later and missing all the Christmas travellers. Maybe he wouldn’t be as far behind the others as he thought. He wondered how Doggo was going, back with his original owner. Was he happy? Did he miss him? Then he felt like an idiot for wondering. He was a dog. An animal. He’d probably forgotten Darren the moment he was out of sight.

His phone started ringing, interrupting his Spotify playlist. He hit the answer button on his steering wheel. ‘Hello?’

‘Darren, hi, it’s me, Sage.’

She sounded out of breath, her voice didn’t have the usual smoothly modulated tone to it. He instantly felt worried.

‘Sage? How did you get my number? What’s going on? What’s wrong?’

‘I have him. I have Doggo for you.’

‘What? What are you talking about? He just went back to his owner.’

‘I know . . . Hang on . . . let me just . . .’

He heard barking and then the sounds of Sage soothing the dog.

‘Sage! What’s going on there?’

‘Sorry, I was just making sure he’s okay . . . and getting my breath back . . . so I can explain.’

Darren waited, letting her take in a few deep breaths, then she spoke again. ‘I followed her. That woman who took him. I had this weird feeling about her . . . this vibe. One of my colleagues at the paper has been working on a story about people who steal dogs for these illegal dog-fighting rings. Sometimes they just break into backyards and take them . . . but sometimes they pose as pet owners and collect lost dogs.’